


Her Boys

by anyanka_eg



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fix-It, Flogging, Light D/s, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post movie but doesn't really matter, Sex, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyanka_eg/pseuds/anyanka_eg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her boys were nothing if not accommodating to her needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Boys

Natasha propped herself up on her elbow and watched her boys sleeping. Clint was sprawled across the bed, as he always was once he felt safe, his body completely relaxed as he slept hard. When he really let go he seemed to expand to fill all the available space whether it was in bed, on the sofa, in her heart. She knew, although she didn't do it, that she could stroke her hand down his beautiful back and he wouldn't stir.

His face was turned away from her, but his right hand was curled gently against her thigh, keeping contact with her without pinning her down. It was always like this, even in those first days when they were still dancing around each other, learning the rhythm of a partnership, like they'd known each other's needs for ever. His other arm was flung out over the third occupant of the bed, as if to make sure the other man didn't leave him again.

Phil was as efficient and self contained asleep as he was awake. He lay on his side, facing both her and Clint, the only indication he'd been more than a spectator in the evening's activities was his slightly mussed hair. Natasha didn't fight the smile that grew on her face. She would probably never tell Phil how utterly adorable he was when his cast iron facade cracked just a little, and the softer, human side of him slipped out. They didn't get to see it nearly enough, not with the lives they lead, and she tried to store all the kind smiles and gently rumpled mornings away in her mind.

Clint twitched, his hand tightening briefly on her leg, before he relaxed into the mattress. She'd taken him down hard that night, pushing all the post-mission jitters put of his head, and allowing him to fly free and clear. His back was still pinked up, warm and over-sensitized from a thorough flogging, and she felt a small swell of pride at how perfectly the evening had progressed.

Watching Phil following her orders even more dutifully than he followed Fury's was a thing of beauty; a work of art, a swelling orchestra, a perfect pas de deux. She wasn't sure who'd taught him how to use a flogger, she'd never asked, but she hoped they had taken pride in the artist they'd created. He landed lashes with precision and efficiency, creating pain without causing damage, acting as her tool to push Clint down into the place where he could let go.

The night's activities had been focused on Clint and settling him back into the real world, or at least their version of it, and ridding his mind of the mission. She wouldn't dream of denying she'd had fun though, because who could resist watching Phil, minus his jacket and tie, as he worked a naked Clint over with the flogger. It was glorious, as always, Clint's wrists snagged loosely above his head by a rope from the hook on the ceiling, with just enough movement for him to twist and turn as he surrendered to the pain.

Once Phil pushed him past the crap in his head, the leather of the flogger slapping over his back again and again, the stiffness went out of Clint's body. He sagged against his bonds a little, letting the rope take his weight as he allowed himself to react to what was happening to him in the present and rather than looping over the events of the past few weeks.

Phil didn't alter his rhythm when Clint started to let go, just carried on bringing down the flogger because that was the order she'd given him. She was sure if she pushed too far, didn't spot the micro-expressions that told her Clint was reaching his limits, then he would stop, use his version of their safe word, but that had never happened. Instead he trusted her to watch his back so he could lose himself in the certainty of the orders she gave, allow him to turn off his mind even as he took care of Clint.

It had taken her longer than it should have done to work out that was what Phil needed and invite him to join them. She regretted that most, she thought, allowing Phil to think he had no one who saw who he was when it mattered most. She was just glad that they'd all been given another chance when he'd recovered from Loki's attack.

Some days, much to Phil's confusion, she'd lay him on the bed and pepper the scar over his heart with kisses, a penance and a promise that they wouldn't ever let him think he was alone. More often than not, those quiet kisses to his chest lead to her knee-walking up the bed until she straddled his face. As expert as he was when told to use a flogger, he was even better with unspoken instruction to lick and suck her to a spectacular orgasm.

If Clint wasn't on his knees with an order to watch, he'd join them, teasing Phil with his mouth or using his fingers to slide inside her as Phil licked around them. As good as she was at reading them, they knew just when they were allowed to touch her, and when to to keep their hands to themselves. She couldn't imagine allowing herself to be as focused on her own pleasure without them. She wasn't so sentimental to think there could never be anyone else, or that they wouldn't survive without each other, but she was grateful to them both. Her beautiful boys.

“You're thinking too much,” Phil murmured, his eyes still closed, making her smile.

“But all such good thoughts, kotik.”

Phil sighed and opened his eyes. He hated the pet name, but knew how to pick his battles. “He needed tonight.”

“He did,” she agreed, letting her hand skim down Clint's back. “And so did we.”

“It's easier when we're all together,” Phil said quietly, and she didn't know if he meant on missions or life in general. She supposed it didn't matter.

“You should go to sleep,” she said, because she hadn't imagined the dark skin under Phil's eyes earlier.

“So should you,” he countered with a small, fond smile. “You're just as tired as me.”

“Ah, but you did all the heavy lifting,” she said, smiling at the tiny flicker of bashful heat that flashed across his face.

He'd fucked Clint, slowly at first while the other man demonstrated Phil wasn't the only one with a spectacularly talented tongue. And then, as Natasha lay panting, Clint's head resting on her stomach, her fingers in his hair, Phil had done as he was told and fucked their boy hard and fast. Clint had been lost in the sensations, clinging to her as the pleasure ripped though him.

She'd watched Phil ride the edge of coming for a few minutes, desperation in his eyes as he met hers, until she'd told them both to come. Clint howled, hands gripping her waist as he shot all over the bed, his dick untouched by either of them. Phil stuttered and froze, emptying himself into Clint with a quiet groan. They were so beautiful together it sometimes almost broke her heart.

“And I loved every minute of it,” he said, eyes starting to drift shut. “Sleep, Tasha.”

She smiled at him, for once willing to be the one given an order in the bedroom, and settled down, inching just a little closer to Clint's furnace like warmth. Maybe, in the morning, she push Clint onto his back, and ride him hard. Maybe she'd have Phil fuck him again while she did it. Or maybe, she'd just get them to make her pancakes and watch trashy TV. Her boys were nothing if not accommodating to her needs.


End file.
